


Disappeared

by CwnAnnwn



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Faking Suicides, Going Off the Grid, Mentions of Gang Activity, Multi, Open Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-12
Updated: 2015-08-12
Packaged: 2018-04-14 09:42:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,120
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4559838
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CwnAnnwn/pseuds/CwnAnnwn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Our little band of miscreants is made up half of rescues, half not.</p><p>I was the first.</p><p>I was bullied at school, a lot, because of my trouble with English and my appearance. It seems my former classmates liked to switch between stereotypes for me; I was labeled the Asian Genius one day, Hentai Slut the next. I was neither.</p><p>I was just Damara, adoptive daughter of the single Doctor Scratch, a little Japanese girl who just wanted to make friends</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know, y'all.

I wake up and it’s cold, the kind of cold that seeps underneath every layer and settles inside you, the kind of cold that makes your flesh numb but your bones hurt like hell, and you can’t warm up because the cold is coming from inside of you, freezing you from the inside out. Even though there are so many blankets on top that I wonder, as I always do, whether or not I’ll be able to push them off of me.

“Loz!” I shout, and I wait. Silence. He’s not in his room.

So I have to get myself up, then. The wood floor is icier than the air around me, and I feel like I’m a hundred years old, bones creaking, unable to put my feet completely on the ground.

But as soon as I get out of my room and into the living room, which is connected to the kitchen, I’m warm.

He’s at the stove, with two burners going. The oven’s fired up, too, and there’s a fire in the fireplace. The air’s toasty.

“Morning,” I say. It’s a statement, neither good nor bad. He doesn’t look up, but nods in acknowledgement.

“Today is the day,” I say. Trying to get him to respond is like pulling teeth, especially when he and I both know everything that’s going on. No reason for us to communicate.

He nods again.

“Why so much food?” I try.

He opens his mouth, and I’m so close to victory, to getting to hear him speak, when I hear a car drive up.

Kurloz shuts his mouth and nods towards the noise. I lose.

A human bullet comes through the door, grabbing me and feigning kissing me on the forehead over and over. Between our bodies, I feel another set of arms, and his girlfriend pulls him away.

“Wrong babe, babe,” she says, turning him and then letting him go wild. Kurloz is his next target.

He slams into the chef. “I love youwoowoowoo,” he says, burying his face in Kurloz’s shirt. Loz just laughs.

Latula smiles at them, but she’s put herself between me and those two. I don’t miss the way she cuts a gaze at me, sharp and cold. I’ve seen her mom on TV; that look is genetic.

Mituna shovels eggs onto his plate and then into his mouth before he even gets to the table. The rest of us fix our plates like normal, respectable human beings, which is the funniest part.

Latula doesn’t even begin eating before asking questions. Detective blood, through-and-through.

“Why’re we here today?” she says.

I look at Kurloz; I hadn’t called them. He just looks back at me and nods.

I know what he’s indicating.

I draw in a breath, readying myself to tell this story in the only way I can: with my broken, stilted English.

“Two nights ago, I go to Cherub party.” Even Mituna stops at this. The Cherubs are dangerous and nasty as shit; I would know, I’d been there before. “Girl there. Little. Talk to her. Need help. Bad.”

Bam. Story told.

“Who is she?” Latula asks. “How do you know she’s okay? How can we be sure about her?”

I know Latula asks these questions because she has the most fall to take if anything goes south, but I know too that she asks these questions to bother me. As if, by now, I don’t know how to scope out a real person from a fake.

We’ve never actually had a fake.

But this girl from the party, she needs us. I can tell just from the way she walked, the way she looked at me, that she’s in a dark place. Maybe darker than I’ve ever been.

I pull out my phone and scroll through to some pictures. Pictures that I’d taken that night, pictures of the girl. I show them to Latula.

“This is her.” The girl in the pictures is tiny, shorter than I am, with pale skin, pale hair, and the biggest green eyes I’ve ever seen. It makes her look like a doll.

“Name is Meulin. Tell me she has family trouble. Bully trouble.”

That’s all I tell them. That’s all I want to tell them. I don’t tell them about how the clothes she wore, a tiny, short dress with a baggy, glittery shirt on top and high heels, were stolen from the mall, or how she looked, gazing at me through too-mascara’d eyes, as she told me that she was sure she’d have to sleep with someone at the party to get what she needs. I don’t tell them that she had to sneak out of the house, which is normal, because her adoptive parents lock her in her bedroom, lock the windows and the door, until morning every night, which is not normal.

I don’t tell them how she clung to me that night, like I’m her only friend in the world and everyone else is out to get her, which might as well be true.

I don’t tell them about the deal sealer, the thing that really makes me want to help this girl, the way that her tongue tripped over English words and messed up her pronunciations when she told me her tale. Tiny. Foreign. English as a second language.

I know how that feels.

Latula’s got her phone out, fingers flying as she works to dig up information on our soon-to-be-new houseguest. Mituna still has my phone, but he’s just playing games on it now. I take it back.

There’s silence for a few minutes before Latula looks up and nods. That’s it. She’s given the Pyrope Official Seal of Approval, and we’re going to rescue this girl.

* * *

Our little band of miscreants is made up half of rescues, half not.

I was the first.

I was bullied at school, a lot, because of my trouble with English and my appearance. It seems my former classmates liked to switch between stereotypes for me; I was labeled the Asian Genius one day, Hentai Slut the next. I was neither.

I was just Damara, adoptive daughter of the single Doctor Scratch, a little Japanese girl who just wanted to make friends. But nobody wants to be friends with the target practice of the football team, the scapegoat of the pranksters.

I had no friends at school, and certainly nobody to help at home. When Scratch was home, which was rarely, he was either always by himself or entertaining a man who went by the name of English.

Language wasn’t the only thing I had trouble with.

This man wanted me to be a mover for his gang, and Scratch was more than willing to lend me to his services. I had no say. I never had a say.

So, when I was caught on the job by one of my classmates, I had a third stereotype to live up to: Yakuza.

That was when things got really bad. Bullies turned to violence. Nobody stood up for the girl being beat up in the parking lot. But that taught me a valuable lesson.

Everyone hated me and feared me for what I wasn’t. I might as well give them something to really be afraid about.

But this wild transformation was only on the outside. I didn’t hate myself or my life any less.

And then, I met Aradia and found a way out.

She was about my size, looked a little like me, but to everyone I knew, all Asians look the same, so it didn’t matter that we weren’t identical.

I get scared, sometimes, thinking of all of the ways what we did could have gone wrong.

She was depressed, at the end of her line. I’d talked to her a few times before, before I knew what I’d use her for, to get her out of it, but she wasn’t interested in getting any help.

So then, I tried to come up with a way to tell her what I wanted her to do, but surprisingly, she beat me to it.

While we were walking together one night, she turned to me.

“ _Damara, listen,_ ” she’d said. She spoke English better than Japanese, but spoke Japanese for me. That was how I knew she was about to get serious. “ _I know we’re not that close, but hear me out. I’m not going to be here much longer._ ”

I hadn’t even said anything like “Don’t say that,” we both knew it was useless, and besides, I wanted to know what she was going to say.

She smiled. Empty.

“ _Nobody knows where I am, did I tell you that? I left home a month ago, left Ms. Paint a note saying I was sorry and that I was going to jump off of a cliff. I nearly did. I took off my shoes and everything, put them by the edge, I was all ready. But I didn’t do it that night. Maybe I thought there was still something out here for me._ ” Her face fell. “ _There isn’t. But that’s okay. I’m ready. And so are you.”_

By this point, she’d lost me. We were nearing my house now; she’d been steering us in that direction. Scratch wasn’t home.

She pulled me to the door and urged me to unlock it. I did, still confused, and she pushed me to my room. There, she began to tug my clothes off of me.

 _“What’re you doing?”_ I pulled away.

Aradia just shrugged, pulling off her sweatshirt and tugging down her jeans. Something clattered to the floor behind her, heavy.

A gun.

She caught me staring, smiled, and threw her shirt on my head. _“Trade clothes with me.”_

_“What?”_

I did take my dress off, though, and handed it to her. She pulled it on over her head.

 _“Aradia is dead. I left those shoes on the cliff and walked away, but everyone figured I was really in the ocean. Nobody cared to look. Aradia’s dead.”_ She pulled her hair up in an imitation of my bun. Numb and confused, I just walked over and helped her. _“But I’m not. I’m still here, and I don’t want to be. Neither do you, but you don’t want to die.”_

It finally clicked. _“No.”_

_“I’m going to kill myself as you. We’ll both get what we want. This is what you want, you were trying to come up with a way to tell me.”_

I’d be lying if I told her I hadn’t considered this. She smiled at me again, a real smile, and hugged me.

Standing back, in the dark, I could see how other people would think she was me.

 _“There’s one thing I need you to do.”_ She pointed to a crumpled up paper on my bed; homework I’d started. _“Write a note.”_

It’s the biggest load of bullshit I ever created, but Aradia liked it. By then, I was dressed in her clothes. She’d told me what to do a few times.

 _“Lay low until the news breaks. After that, it’ll be safe for you to be seen in the open. Y’know what they say, we all look alike.”_ She grew quiet. “ _I don’t have anything else for you. After this, I can’t help you any more.”_

 _“No.”_ I hugged her this time, the last time. _“You’ve helped enough.”_

I left that house and walked, past one, two, three houses before I heard the faint pop of the gun. After that, I ran.

 


	2. Chapter 2

 

The text comes in before noon. While we’ve been preparing, so has she.

This will be easier than Kurloz’s disappearance. We’ve been able to do a quicker turnaround.

Or, it should be easier, but the text she sends me says otherwise.

_I’M LOCKED IN_

I can’t help the hiss of breath through my teeth. “Fuck.”

Latula looks up at me from her computer. “What?”

“Parents lock her in.”

“ _Well_ then,” a voice shouts, and it’s Kurloz, standing in the doorway with two big, red jugs. “What the FUCK am I supposed to do with all this gasoline?”

Mituna’s face breaks open and he cracks up, and Latula and I join in. It’s funny. We’re not in deep yet, we can still fix this.

At least half of what we do is improvisation. That’s what makes it fun.

I go to another contact on my phone and call him.

“Hey, doll…” he drawls, picking up on the second ring.

“Plan B,” I say.

“You’re pregnant?”

I roll my eyes, Lost on him; we’re on the phone.

“No. Other plan B.”

“Ok. Gimme a sec.” Softly, far away, I hear him say “Sorry, babe, gotta go,” and then he’s back to me. “Situation?”

I leave the room. Even though nobody will be able to understand me, I wanted to talk privately. Once I was in another room, I dropped my voice to a whisper and told him everything, the story coming easier since I was using my native tongue. He understood it.

As I talked, three more text messages came in.

_THIS IS BAD_

_HE SAID I’LL REGRET SNEAKING OUT_

_HELP ME PLEASE I’M SCARED_

I relayed these to Rufioh, too. I heard him whistle, low.

“Alright, I’ll be there to pick you up in an hour. Ask her where the parents are. We need to be sure they’re not around.

“Okay,” I say by way of goodbye, “I keep you updated.”

I hang up and go back to the others. “Keep working,” I say, “Everything is under control.”

In an hour, I hear Rufioh’s truck pull up, and I’m out the door. When I get in the passenger’s seat, he calls to Kurloz.

“Hey, man, put the gasoline in the back.”

I look out the back window at Kurloz and notice that everything’s covered by a tarp. It’s impressive that Rufioh could get all of this in an hour.

He turns my face to him and kisses me. I know it’s meant to distract me, but I get into it anyways, because I’ve missed him.

He’s the third rescue, the one that’s not really a part of what we do because he’s somehow managed to start living a somewhat normal life. We only call on him on special occasions, but when we do, he gets it done.

* * *

We arrive at her house a while later. She’s assured us that her parents aren’t home, so we just back into the garage and get out.

The doors are locked. That’s cute.

I get in easily and then move upstairs, to where Meulin said her room was. I start calling softly.

She’s in the middle room. The smallest one.

I unlock the door without much trouble and she’s in my arms, holding onto me like her life depends on it.

I don’t let her let go, not until Rufioh comes up the steps.

“We need to work quick,” he says. She unwraps herself from me and stands up straighter. Rufioh looks at her. “You need to give me your clothes.”

She looks confused.

“If these are what they last saw you in, I need ‘em. Change into something else, or Damz can hook you up with some new clothes.”

Meulin pauses, then nods, and when Rufioh makes no move to give her any privacy, because he always misses social clues like that until it’s too late, she just strips right there.

What surprises me most, though, is when she walks over to her dresser and takes off her bra and panties, quickly putting on new ones. Her jacket, dress, and underwear are then handed off to Rufioh.

It’s his turn to look confused, but he takes them and goes back downstairs. When he’s gone, I ask.

“Underwear?”

She’s rummaging through her drawers, pulling out clothes that look brand new. “No privacy.”

It’s a blouse and sweater, skirt and tights. And flats. I want to make a comment about it, that it’s cute or something, but I keep my mouth shut. Instead, I walk over and pat her shoulder.

“Stole this too?”

She laughs, and it makes both of us feel lighter. “How did you know?” Her i’s sound like ee and she doesn’t round out her o’s.

I yank the tag off of the sweater and dangle it in front of her face. She laughs again. The sound dies off, and then she’s just looking at me. Smiling.

Rufioh comes jogging up the stairs. “I need shoes.”

I want to whirl on him, lash out at him for breaking up our moment, but Meulin just points to her closet, still smiling at me. There’s a piece of hair dangling in front of her eyes, and I reach out and tuck it back, steeling myself for the seriousness that comes next.

“Write note.”

Her face falls. “Huh?”

“Write note. Suicide note.”

Realization dawns, and I think that she’s going to bail, right here and now. Because she knows what we’re asking her to do. We’re faking her suicide. We’re making her leave her old life behind, and everyone in it, and she’s not ready.

But then I want to cry and hold her, because she just nods solemnly and sits down at her desk.

It’s the most beautiful fake suicide note I’ve ever read.

* * *

Rufioh ushers us out of the house. The tarp is still there, but I know that underneath, it’s empty. I don’t know what he had back there, and I guess I never will, because he tells us to go on without him.

“Consider it a personal favor,” he says, and kisses me again to take my mind off of it.

Meulin shuffles her feet. I break off the kiss early and nod at him.

“Do what you need.” Then, I get in the driver’s seat. To Meulin, I say; “Get down in back. I tell you when safe.”

She does as she’s told, and we drive off.

I tell her when we’re safe, and then we get out at a strip mall. I need to stay around, so that I can pick up Rufioh when he needs me to, and I have no idea where that’ll be. We stop by an ice cream place, and I treat us.

We’re sitting outside enjoying our ice creams when she suddenly goes still. I follow her gaze to a short punk skulking near the shop.

“Know him?” I whisper.

She nods, once. “He goes to my school.”

I swear. Fucking kids.  “He not have school?” I hiss.

“I wasn’t at school today, either.”

“Locked in room,” I tell her.

I see the corners of her mouth quirk, but she still looks worried. I have to act fast. Moving would invite him to look at us, maybe recognize her. Staying still would invite him to come closer.

Luckily, I know a trick.

I can see from the corner of my eye that he’s not looking at us, but he’s not looking away either. So I lean over the table, cup her face in my hand, and kiss her.

Her lips taste like the strawberry ice cream she’s been eating, and I wonder if she can taste chocolate and cherries on mine. I open my eyes just a bit to see if the fuckboy’s still looking-he’s not-but then Meulin pushes into the kiss.

My heart skips a beat, I swear, and it’s equal parts elation and anxiety. I’ve been here before.

Before, when Rufioh and I were exclusive. Before, when our fluid, open, five-person relationship left one odd man out on occasion, and it was always Kurloz. Before Rufioh got too involved with someone who’s _not even one of us_ and drifted farther away, only kissing me when he wants something.

Before Kurloz and I discovered that we didn’t click in just the right way, and somehow the two odd ones out never added up to even again.

Before all of that, when I kissed, I felt like I was really a part of something, something meaningful and loving.

That’s how I feel now, when Meulin kisses me, and that’s what I’m afraid will happen.

But then she breaks off the kiss, and her classmate isn’t even around anymore, and I want it all back. I’m tired of being on the outside, and she’s let me back in, and I never, ever want to feel that way ever again.

* * *

We pick up Rufioh half a mile from the river after the sun started to set, a trashbag over his shoulder and no stories to tell. All he says is “Went off without a hitch”, which sounds like a really country thing, and he must’ve gotten it from his new boyfriend. He gets in the driver’s seat, I shift to the passenger’s, and we drive to the house.

The others were waiting for us, waiting to meet the new “rescue”. Rufioh drops us off and gets out, probably to make sure everything’s still clean and safe, and I introduce the newbie.

It’s kind of strange, introducing her after everything happens. Usually, there’s a meet period, when the rescue gets to know everyone before the plan goes down, but I’d jumped the gun on this one. I got her out before all of that, and so now it’s a little awkward.

Mituna’s all over her, asking her questions and listening to her respond in her accent. Latula butts in every once in a while, telling her some of the technical details, how she needs to pick out a new name, and about all of her new fake documents that’ll be in in a couple of weeks.

“You’re here until then,” she says.

Kurloz comes over and presses a kiss to my cheek, but I can see his eyes are on her.

“Come in,” I say, and I lead her to the living room. I go to the kitchen and begin fixing a late dinner, but I keep my eyes on all of them.

They’re helping her get settled in, but Kurloz keeps talking to her. I’ve never seen him talk so much, or be so physical, but he has his hand on her upper arm, he’s bending down to her level, trying to make her feel comfortable by talking in a low, soft voice.

I know it’s just because he wants to fuck her.

The knife comes down on the chicken a little more forcefully than I’d planned.

After a few minutes, we all get a text from Rufioh.

_turn on the tv. emergency news report_

We all sit down and turned on the TV, some weird cable workup that we had thanks to Mituna’s tech skills.

Meulin comes and sits next to me and holds my hand. I’m there for her, and I let her lay her head on my shoulder as I stroke her hand.

It doesn’t take long for them to get to the story, “LOCAL TEEN SUICIDE”, and as soon as we see a school picture of Meulin, she bows her head and whispers.

“Turn it off.”

I nod at Latula, who reaches for the remote, and when Mituna makes a noise of protest we all shush him.

We’re quiet and dinner is quiet and she is quiet, until she drops her glass by accident and it spills. We all freeze; the sound is impossibly loud, and she looks like she’s about to cry.

But she doesn’t. She laughs, short at first, and then easier.

“We did it. You did it. We-I’m-safe.” It’s a relieved laugh.

We laugh along.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Big ol' threesome.

It’s a great feeling, when we win like this.

That great feeling’s going around with a bottle of vodka and some pot, outside, surrounding the fire pit. There’re four benches, each with cushions. We only use three. We’re all relaxed, giddy, even Meulin, who’s only had a little of each but is still feeling the effects a little, helping her get over her troubles.

On one bench, Mituna and Latula are getting handsy, fast. Her jeans are halfway down her thighs and he’s got her shirt pushed up to her neck, working on her bra.

I alternate glances at them with looks at Meulin, thinking about our kiss. She’s doing the same, and probably feeling the same effects that I am.

Horny as fuck, or at least getting there.

Mituna releases Latula’s mouth from his own and begins to descend, down her chest, down her stomach, and that’s when Kurloz stands up and taps Mituna on the back, whispering to him about something. Mituna then whispers to Latula, who stands up, pulling on her jeans, and drags Mituna into the house. They’re headed to the upstairs bedroom.

As Meulin is released from their spell, I move in.

She’s ready, I can tell, because she just opens herself to the kiss without hesitation, already moaning. God, it cuts me to the core.

I get to the zipper of her skirt and undo it, and she lifts her hips so that I can push it down to her knees.

She needs this.

She needs me.

I inch my hand under her tights next and play with the tiny strap of her thong. It’s a weak and flimsy thing, but the tights she has on are just so _tight_ that the middle seam, the one that wraps like a U from the navel to the small of the back, is really pressing into my hand.

I have an idea. It’s a dirty one, but so far, Meulin’s been game for whatever I’ve thrown at her.

I pull away just to grab the pocket knife that Kurloz leaves on the fire pit, quick, and then go back to her. Just to test my idea, I twist the middle bit of fabric around my finger, making a cord, and pull on it.

She gasps, sinking her fingers into my thigh, and that’s all I need.

I pull again, and whip out the knife to cut the string-thin straps on either side, leaving just that middle part, which I pull completely off of her. Then, I throw the thong to the side. The tights let in just enough air to make her squirm, while the middle seam is pressing her just where I want it to.

Added bonus; the tights, while technically “black”, are pretty sheer; they won’t hide anything from view, not really.

So yeah, maybe I have deserved the Slut stereotype. But fuck that.

She pulls off her sweater and begins to undo the blouse underneath. We’re both moving so fast that it takes no time until we’re done with hers and she undoes mine. Then, I’ve got her leaning back against the bench again. I’m sitting to her side, just leaning my head over to kiss her, but my hand massages the inside of her thigh. I want her to keep her legs spread, because Kurloz has just come back outside, and her legs are facing him.

I stop kissing her for just a moment to smirk at him, and he’s sitting there slack jawed, staring.

He’s feeling it now, too. Must not’ve taken care of himself with Mituna and Latula.

But while I’m silently gloating, I miss Meulin grabbing the knife from my other side and cut one of my bra straps. I look down just in time to see her cut the other one, and then she slides her hands around me and unhooks it, tossing the ruined garment away.

“Even,” she says before throwing herself back into our makeout. She gets my boobs in either hand and massages them for a moment, letting me get comfortable before she gets rough and pinches my nipples.

It nearly undoes me, and through a hooded glance, I can see Kurloz is just as into it. He won’t touch himself yet, that’s not his style, but he’s doing just fine just watching.

I’m not, and I know he won’t be for much longer, so I urge her to stand up. Leg movement makes the seam rub at her; that’s what I’m going for. She tries to control her expressions the whole way to Kurloz, just a few steps, but I can tell that is leaving her in agony.

Kurloz and I are having too much fun teasing her though, and he gets the idea when we walk over. He leans forward, elbows resting on knees,  and his face is just about at her crotch. He leans, purses his lips, and presses a kiss to her clit.

She flinches.

When he tugs on the seam, pulling it away from her, and blows, she shudders and nearly falls against me.

But then, I pull her backwards, away from him; the seam slips from his fingers and snaps against her, and she cries out.

I turn her around when we’re back to our bench and push her down. I sit on the bench and pull my panties off under my skirt. She gets the idea, leaning forward. Her hands slip to her crotch, and I tell her, quickly, “No.”

She doesn’t even frown, just leans into the spot between my thighs, and I wonder for a second if she’s ever done this before, but then I don’t. Because this cute girl who I kissed for the first time today is eating me out, putting all of her effort into it, and really making it count.

Her tongue’s working up and down quickly, from just above my clit to my vagina and back down, up and down and up and down and then dipping inside, teasing the beginning of my hole by curling her tongue up against the walls. After pushing her tongue as far as it can go and touching every part of me that she can reach, she pulls out and moves to my clit, flicking it lightly and then dragging the edges of her teeth up it.

That gets me; I gasp out a breath and twist my fingers in her hair, pulling her even more to me.

Kurloz has taken his shirt off. He’s behind Meulin now, waiting, hard, but still in his pants. I sigh.

I disentangle my fingers from her hair and she starts to get up. She doesn’t know Kurloz is behind her, and when she’s on her feet, his hands are on her hips and under the elastic and twists it in his fingers, getting a grip and pulling up.

The seam presses, grinds hard against every part of her that’s sensitive. Her poor, abused clit is trapped beneath it, being tortured by the pressure and friction. The noise that she makes, a shout, head back, eyes shut, pure desire from the soul of her being, is the final straw; it’s time.

With the exception of those fucking tights, nothing has touched her where she wants, so I stand up and slip one hand between her thighs.

I have fake nails, and they’re sharp, so I have no trouble dipping my middle finger just into her entrance, making her shudder and her legs nearly give out. I get enough purchase of the weak material that I can tear it; starting with where my finger is now, I yank out and up, giving the underside of her clit a hard drag that makes her lose her breath. She’s gasping, wide-eyed, and that’s when I kiss her.

She kisses back, open-mouthed and sloppy. She loves it, and I have a brief fantasy of just the two of us, testing each of our limits. Not tonight. Maybe later.

I can’t help it, watching her squirm is just so fun, and so I get down on my knees and run my tongue along the hole in the tights. This time, she gets really vocal. I want to do this all night, but she looks down at me and breathes, “Damara…”

That’s it. I stand up and grab her hips, pulling her to me and gyrating, grinding on her while we made out. But Kurloz drags her away and kisses her. It’s just as passionate, I think, and he’s got a hand on her boob and another at her crotch, and I just, I can’t anymore.

I grab Kurloz’s arm. “Now.”

We barely get inside before I have her on the sofa, grinding down and dragging my hands down those stupid, sexy tights, tearing more holes. But Kurloz doesn’t want to be left out, and soon, Meulin’s on the floor, lying on her back, and I’m next to her, kissing her, because even after everything we’ve just done, she’s still nervous about taking a penis inside of her.

I mean, fuck me, she’s a virgin.

I kiss her like it’s our last time, but it’s far from our last time, and when Kurloz finally gets inside of her, she gasps. I kiss her harder, taking her mind off of it, and then, when she’s adjusted, and getting into it, I stop kissing her and sit on her face instead.

She takes up and digs her tongue inside me again, thrashing. Moving from my vagina to my clit, she began to play with it with her teeth again, and I have trouble holding myself up. Then, she sucks on it, hard.

I’m so close, and maybe she can tell, because she’s putting so much effort, she’s tilting her head around to get deeper. She moves to my clit again, drags up it with her teeth, and then grinds down with her tongue, and I’m done.

I grind on her face, riding out my orgasm as she licks and sucks everything I give her until I’m spent.

I climb off and kiss her, and she gives me a completely blissed-out expression. She hasn’t even come yet.

I look at Kurloz, who’s just now starting to drive into her now that I’m off, and I let myself be mesmerized by the way her body moves on the floor, breasts bouncing all around. But I motion for him to stop.

“Sit on sofa,” I tell him, and he pulls out and does just that. I help Meulin stand, and she’s already feeling it, feeling weak, but he’s sitting on the sofa with his dick still erect and I know she wants to finish. I help her get situated on him, legs on either side of his, straddling him, facing away from him and looking at me. I watch her sink down on him.

I kiss her as he begins to bounce her, but soon she’s moving too much for me. They keep going, her breasts bouncing all over, like before, making fleshy sounds when they make contact.

Her eyes are unfocused, mouth hanging open, making incoherent noises. Kurloz is pacing himself, but soon he gets too excited, and that’s when I really back off.

He grabs her under her knees and pulls her thighs up, shifting himself so that he can really ram her, and she begins to make these noises, loud, getting louder, longer, every time he hilts in her. Just the noise of their contact fills the rooms, and his movements are rocking the house.

His fingers are making red marks on her legs, demolishing her tights.

And now she’s screaming with every hilt, eyes either shut or just unseeing, And as he picks up pace once more, picks up force, she just screams on a constant, coming and letting her juices run down his dick, making his thrusts more and more slick.

He’s absolutely plowing into her now, working to a great finish, and she’s just limp, panting, eyes unfocused.

Kurloz groans loud, and with a few more quick, strong thrusts, finally finishes. He lets go of her legs and she’s doesn’t move. She needs his help just to get off.

He doesn’t fuck much, Kurloz, and it’s clear by the amount that flows back out of her. She can barely stand. I let her fall into my arms and cradle her head against my naked chest.

We wind up just lying back on the sofa, Kurloz with his pants pulled down past his ass, me with a skirt and no panties or anything else, and Meulin in ripped tights, dripping everywhere.

We can’t even bother to close the door or turn off the lights; we just lie, exposed, in bliss.

This is how Mituna and Latula find us later.

* * *

I wake up completely naked in the big bed in Kurloz’s room, Kurloz and Meulin beside me. She’s sleeping in his embrace, and I feel that vice in my heart again. Anxiety. What choice would she make?

I can’t stand it, so I leave, pulling on clothes in my own room and going to the kitchen to start breakfast.

I’m alone.

But when I hear someone at the doorway, hear footsteps along the floor, and feel arms wrap around my middle, I think that maybe, maybe I’m not.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is my fantasy.
> 
> Ripped tights are sexy.

**Author's Note:**

> If I add more to this, it'll just be everyone fucking at some point.


End file.
